Danses des Cygnes
by glass-jars
Summary: Chuck Shurley, a professor at a nearby university, goes to the lake one June night and sees a black swan and a white swan. His life is, of course, changed entirely. (Michael/Chuck, Lucifer/Chuck, Lucifer/Michael (not brothers), Lucifer/Chuck/Michael)
1. Danses des Cygnes

(( The mild michifer in this is not incest; Michael and Lucifer are not brothers by blood or family.  
Inspired by fairy tales about swan maidens.  
A small tag for visual stuff related to this fic can be found at my tumblr (tentaclesandasphyxiation) under /tagged/danses-de-cygne-au ))

...

With the moon high in the sky, Chuck made his way down the sidewalk. Some broken glass near the curb glittered a little in the light from a streetlamp as he passed by, and the road was empty as far as he could see. He crossed the street at a half-jog. The gravel crackled a little under his sneakers. A path between several blooming magnolia trees—their pink flowers bobbed a little in the light wind of early summer.

He made his way down the narrow path of crushed up clam shells, dirt, and smooth pebbles. It was very quiet, though he could just hear the soft sound of waves as he advanced between the trees. It took him only a few seconds to crest a little hill and walk down the shore of a wide lake. The water lapped at the rocks lining its edge. Moonlight flickered over its surface. Chuck sat in the shadow of a small, abandoned shed near the crumbling dock, pulling a little bag of almonds from his pocket as he did so.

A bright white swan, plumage flashing as it flapped its wings, lit on the surface of the lake with barely a ripple. It didn't move much, until a goose or something—all dark with a bill that seemed almost as dark—landed next to it and the two began to squawk at each other. The black one raised its wings, and Chuck could see white feathers on the undersides as its back bristled. The white one, nearly glowing in the darkness, hissed.

Chuck watched them fight, curious. They never actually attacked each other. Just flapped their wings and honked angrily.

Eventually, the white swan—bigger and stouter than the black bird—took flight, and left. The black bird arched its long neck, and Chuck realized it was a swan as well. Not a goose. Though it shared similarities with geese, the way its neck curved and the way it held its wings were certainly very swan-like. He chewed on a handful of almonds thoughtfully. He'd never seen a black swan before.

The bird edged its way toward an area on the shore several hundred feet away from where Chuck sat.

Chuck watched it.

As it waddled onto the shore its silhouette seemed to shimmer—Chuck dismissed it as a trick of the light. But when he blinked, the swan was gone and in its place stood a man. Not as if he'd appeared out of thin air, but as if he had been standing there the whole time. He hung some kind of black and white cloak from the boughs of one of the magnolia trees edging the lake and stretched in the moonlight.

He was definitely completely naked.

The man turned back toward the lake, and stepped into the water. He waded out until it hit his waist and scooped handfuls across his skin. He ducked his head under once as well. He shook his head like a dog. Ran his hands through his hair and looked up at the sky.

Chuck stared, almonds forgotten in his hands.

Despite the distance between them, and the fact that even with his glasses Chuck couldn't see a whole lot at night, he could tell that the man was attractive. Or at the very least, fit. He moved in the water with a great deal of grace and serenity, as well. Chuck kind of wanted to get a better look, but he wouldn't be able to do that without alerting the strange swan-man of his presence. So he stayed in the shadows, and waited.

The moon rose higher and higher.

The man came nearer to the area where Chuck sat—water rippled around his hips as he ran his hand along the mossy, rotting dock. Half of the structure had submerged a long time before Chuck ever found the lake, and he dragged his darkened hand (his fingers looked like they had been dipped in charcoal dust) from the saturated wood underwater to the slightly drier, splintering pieces out in the open air.

His hair looked black in the moonlight, with white streaks from each temple, and his muscles were extremely well-defined. Like a pornstar, Chuck thought, or a model.

Or maybe an Olympic athlete from Ancient Greece.

When the man turned, Chuck could just make out his face. His eyes seemed unnaturally shadowed, as if hidden in darkness despite the bright moonlight. His lips had a paler stripe right down the center. Maybe a birthmark... He turned, slowly, in the water. Began to move further away again. He stepped onto the rocks of the shore and reached for his cloak, and slipped it on, and suddenly he was gone, and the black swan was already running across the water and flapping its wings. Awkward and noisy, until it was airborne, and flew away, a black blot against the trees.

Chuck sat still for a while before he finally stood and began to walk back home.

When he got into his bed at two in the morning, he stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. All he could think was, "Oh my God, I saw a swan turn into a naked dude and back into a swan. What the fuck." Eventually, though, despite his shock, he fell asleep. And dreamed about swans in tutus, dancing to Miley Cyrus—not the weirdest dream he'd had in his life, but pretty high up there.

In the morning, he drank his coffee with nothing in it, and went about the task of trying to forget he'd ever seen anything strange.

Nonetheless, he went to the lake again that night.

The man was already there, when Chuck slipped through the trees. He sat on the half-sunken pier with his feet in the water, leaning back on his palms, looking up at the moon.

Chuck kept to the shadows and tried not to make a sound.

He accidentally stepped on an old stick in the underbrush, though. It cracked loudly and Chuck ducked. When he dared to look out at the lake again, the swan man was gone.

The next night, Chuck sat between two trees, having arrived early, and waited.

He was being creepy, if he was to be completely honest with himself.

But who _wouldn't_ be enthralled by an attractive shape-shifting man? Speaking of which... from his view between the magnolias, he saw both the black and white swan land in the water. They circled each other a few times—not aggressively, like the first night, but affectionately. Still in the water, the white one rose its wings and flapped and slowly seemed to grow taller until rather than a bird, a sturdy man with white hair stood waist-deep in the lake with a white cape sliding from his back. He draped the cape—made of feathers—on his arm and stepped out onto the shore. His hair was the color of the inside of an oyster shell. Blinding white, like his feathers, or the dot of the sun on a hot day.

Chuck held his breath.

The black swan transformed as well.

They hung their capes side-by-side from a tree branch.

Chuck settled more comfortably against one of the tree trunks and watched the two men—brothers? lovers? friends?—weave back and forth through each other's personal space in the dark water of the lake. Once, the white one splashed the other, and received an annoyed little pat to the top of his head. He laughed.

Chuck fell asleep while they played around in the water.

He woke up with his fingers curled around a pink magnolia blossom and a crick in his neck.

He put the flower in his bedroom when he got home, on the windowsill.

For a week, he continued to watch the swans. Sometimes both, occasionally just the one with black feathers and hair, and—rarest of all—sometimes just the white one.

He took the utmost care to remain undetected. He was being a little bit stalkerish, and he knew it, but he didn't want to spook them away. They fascinated him. Birds who turned into men, and back. And when they were men, they looked human, but something wasn't quite right about them. The dark-haired one's fingers were always black, and his feet too, the one time Chuck caught a glimpse of them. He'd thought they were just dirty, but they didn't seem to be. And the pale one... His fingers were even paler than the rest of him. Fingertips like moonlight. Feet just as black as his brother's.

Once, he passed right beside Chuck's little hiding spot in the trees. Chuck pressed himself against the shadows and watched him pass. His white fingers glimmered. He seemed to glance at Chuck, and Chuck's breath caught in his throat—no eye whites, just a pool of black around his irises. Lined with black around his eyes that reminded Chuck of Egyptian makeup. A little bit.

The man passed, and Chuck relaxed.

The two swans exchanged words and the white one chuckled.

They left.

This pattern continued for another week at least. Chuck had stopped keeping track of how often he visited. But one night, the white one was alone.

He was waiting. For Chuck. With a magnolia blossom in one hand and the other planted on his hip, he stood by the shore, facing the gravel and seashell path. Chuck froze. He cleared his throat and took his glasses off. Robbed their lenses with the hem of his shirt and kept his eyes fixed on his shoes as he slipped his glasses back onto his nose.

Neither of them moved.

Eventually, Chuck said, "Sorry."

The white swan man said, "My name is Lucifer."

Chuck blinked. He looked up.

Lucifer held out his flower with a soft smirk. "What? Scared?"

"No—" Chuck shook his head. "Well... maybe a little. Um..." He paused, and took the flower. "Aren't you mad at me for... watching you guys?"

A shrug. "I don't mind. Michael doesn't know." His lips curled up further. His messy white hair flashed in the moonlight as he tilted his head. "You like us?"

"I, uh—" Chuck rubbed his mouth, and wrinkled his nose. "Do I... like you? Well, I mean... You're certainly both attractive but I don't really... know... you." He bounced on his feet. "I guess I like you. I like when you two sit on the shore and uh... whisper to each other."

Lucifer was silent, and his smile widened. He looked at Chuck as though he were something a little confusing and very amusing.

Chuck shifted uncomfortably. "Do you know what I'm saying?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

Lucifer wrapped his fingers—cold enough to make Chuck jump—around Chuck's wrist and pulled him toward the lakeside. He sat on the submerged dock with his feet in the water, tugging Chuck down beside him. Chuck decided it was warm enough that he could take off his sneakers (no socks) and roll up his pants and stuck his feet into the water as well.

"Do you have fire?"

Chuck frowned. "What...?"

Lucifer raised his hand and made a flicking motion with his thumb. "Fire."

"A lighter?"

Lucifer nodded, and Chuck's frown deepened. He rummaged in his pocket but couldn't find anything. Just a stray peanut. "Why?"

"I want to see what colors you are."

Chuck shot him a bemused smile, and leaned back a little on his hands. "What do you mean?"

"The moonlight." Lucifer raised his arm in a vague gesture as he smirked at Chuck and tilted his head, cat-like. "It turns everything a gray that pretends to be blue. But in firelight you can see colors." He ran one broad hand back through his hair and mussed it up even more than it had been already. Looked out over the water. The ripples lapped around his calves.

Chuck looked out over the water as well.

He remembered why he'd come to the lake in the first place. It was very pretty. Lined about by pretty magnolia trees, with pink blossoms that looked mostly white and gray in the nighttime. Soft, round stones made up the shore and the water was clear even in the dark. The dock creaked a little under his bottom. The little shack nearby, rundown and covered in moss, had a broken window that glittered in the light of the moon.

After a long silence, Chuck said, "I want to see what colors you are too."

Lucifer laughed at him. He kicked his feet in the water and let himself fall back against the rotting wood, folding his hands over his stomach. "If you wait with me here for long enough, we can both see." He glanced at Chuck from the corner of his eye. The black sclera were disconcerting, but... Chuck found he didn't actually mind as much as he would have expected. Something about the blacks of his eyes around his pale irises was appealing. Pretty, even.

He sighed. "I can't stay out at the lake all night."

"Take me home with you."

Chuck let out a strangled noise. "_Excuse_ me?" He floundered for something to say until he eventually settled on, "I can't walk home with a naked stranger following me! People would see! And ask embarrassing questions!" He glared at Lucifer.

"I can turn into a swan and follow you in the air."

A beat of silence. "Alright." Chuck rubbed his face. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but okay. You can follow me home." He laughed from behind his hands.

Lucifer smiled.

At half-past midnight on a Sunday morning, Chuck found himself opening his back door to a blindingly white swan. The moment the door closed behind him, Lucifer shed his bird form and hung his cloak of snow-white feathers across the back of a chair in the dining room attached to the back hallway.

Chuck fidgeted.

The taller man turned to him. His hair glistened in the warm glow from the ceiling light—it really was white like snow, with an almost blue tinge to it in the roots and thicker areas. His eyebrows were just as pale, and his eyelashes stood out stark against the line of black skin under his eyes.

His eyes were electric blue. The brightest, most unnatural shade of blue Chuck had ever seen on a person. They popped against his dark sclera. His mouth seemed mostly normal. When he grinned and showed his teeth, they were white and his gums were pink. Pretty basic. But his lips were just a bit orange. As if someone had applied coral lip gloss to them. But... not actually makeup. Like a lightened shade of his swan's beak.

"You're staring." Lucifer stepped closer. He raised a hand—and his fingers really _were_ white, and a little shimmery—to Chuck's face. "Is it because I'm beautiful, or because I scare you?"

Chuck stammered unintelligibly for a moment. Finally, he licked his lips and replied: "Both?"

Lucifer laughed. He let his cold palm slide down the line of Chuck's jaw. Let his fingertips brush against his skin. He lowered his voice and leaned closer, so that Chuck could see that his upper eyelids were as pale as his fingers. "I want to see your bed."

"Oh God." Chuck felt himself heat up. No doubt his cheeks were red. He snatched his glasses off and reached blindly to set them on the dining room table. He couldn't bring himself to look away from Lucifer though. He was... captivating. Breathtaking, in more ways than one. Chuck couldn't help but be drawn to him, inexorably, like a moth to light.

He stood on his tiptoes and pressed his mouth to Lucifer's.

His lips were very cold, just like the rest of his skin, and Chuck wondered if all of his people were like that, or just Lucifer. The thought drifted away from him as Lucifer set his hands to exploring underneath Chuck's shirt, raising goosebumps up his arms. He remembered Lucifer had mentioned his bed, so he began to back away. Grabbed Lucifer by the hand and led him upstairs to the bedroom.

They fell onto the bed—literally: Chuck tripped on his laundry and took Lucifer down with him. Lucifer didn't seem to mind, though. Merely took the opportunity to push Chuck down against the sheets, dropping kisses here and there across his face and neck and stomach, as he slid Chuck's shirt up.

Lucifer asked Chuck, more than once, things like, "Is this okay?" and "May I do this?" and Chuck would be lying if he said it didn't disorient him a little bit. For all that consent was always preached in the halls of the university he taught at, and on various blogs he read, Chuck had never been asked for consent with more than a "You good?" or "You wanna sleep with me?" or nothing at all. Just assumed in the passion of a moment.

It was nice.

Lucifer left with the sunrise.

Chuck woke the next day with three thoughts running around in his head: 1) He couldn't find his glasses, and 2) Lucifer had a forked tongue.

He groaned and rolled out of bed, making his slow and particularly ache-y way downstairs to start up the coffeemaker. He leaned his forehead against the cool tabletop while he waited for the coffee. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and birds chirped merrily. Chuck hated them. How dare they be chipper on a Sunday morning, when he was tired and sore. He sat up, reaching for his glasses and shoving them onto his face. The dining room came into focus. He sighed.

He decided the coffee was done, poured himself a mug of it, sat down, and glared out the window.

The weather refused to become gloomy and the birds continued to sing. Chuck conceded that maybe he wasn't in as foul a mood as he wanted to be, now that he had filled himself up with coffee. Just a bit sore, and thinking of ways to conceal his massive hickey.

"I'm getting too old for this..." He sipped his coffee and watched sparrows flit back and forth in the sun.

That night, he didn't go to the lake. With finals week coming up, he needed to focus on writing the test for his comp lit class. His students probably wouldn't appreciate showing up to class at the asscrack of dawn only to be told the test hadn't been made. He also needed to finish grading a few papers. His _least_ favorite part of teaching.

He spent the evening being a responsible adult and went to bed at a reasonable hour. Did that for a few days in a row, to replenish his energy. He finished writing his test, and when he gave it to his TA to look over she teased him about his still very visible hickey. He got flustered and hid in his coffee cup.

His thoughts often drifted back to Lucifer and—what had he called him—Michael. The way they looked in the water. The way Lucifer had touched him. He wondered if they kissed in the same way, or if their way of treating potential partners varied as drastically as their appearances. Once, he caught himself fantasizing about being pressed between them and caressed all over. The daydream left him flushed and embarrassed in the shower.

He dropped by on the weekend, Friday night, and Saturday.

The first night, both Lucifer and his black swan friend were there, lounging on the shore, trading words so quiet Chuck couldn't even make out their sounds. Lucifer kissed Michael's cheek once and laughed.

Michael left early that night. His white flight feathers flashed brightly in the shadows, a stark contrast to the rest of his feathers.

Lucifer immediately found Chuck in the shade of the magnolia trees and pushed him up against a trunk, mouth on neck and split tongue flicking against his skin. Chuck wrapped his arms around Lucifer's shoulders. Lucifer lifted him, so that Chuck had to wrap his legs around his waist, and tighten his hold.

The bark of the tree scraped against his shirt, but he didn't mind. Especially with Lucifer's cold lips against his.

That went on for maybe a minute before Lucifer let Chuck drop back to his feet, and murmured, "Take off your clothes."

Chuck frowned. "What?" He crossed his arms and watched Lucifer, who smiled.

"Come swim with me." Lucifer cupped Chuck's face between his palms and kissed him. "The water's nice."

He pulled the first few buttons of Chuck's shirt undone—coaxed him away from the trees and out into the moonlight. Chuck followed after him a little reluctantly. He didn't normally like to swim in anything other than a pool. He kept his boxers on, and stripped away everything else. Piled his clothing in a nice dry area, and set his shoes on top of them.

The water lapped warm against Chuck's feet when he stepped in, with Lucifer at his back whispering nonsense. It really _was_ nice. Cool on his skin, and soft. The round rocks that made up the lake bottom were slick against his bare feet, so he clutched Lucifer's arm in case he lost his footing. Lucifer chuckled and pulled Chuck further out until the water reached his chest, and leaned down to kiss him. Chuck shivered. A light breeze sent goosebumps up his arms and the hair on the back of his neck stood up, as Lucifer's hands dipped below the water and stroked down his sides, chill to the touch. (Like snow or frost.)

After they swam for a while, Chuck sat on a large moss-covered rock on the edge of the shore. Lucifer remained in the water, kneeling, and focused on sucking a red mark onto the inside of Chuck's thigh. Chuck curled his fingers in Lucifer's hair—it was soft and thick. He set his other hand against Lucifer's shoulder. Lucifer nipped his leg, and he flinched.

"You're a jerk."

Lucifer only smirked against his skin.

Chuck got home as the sun rose, tinting everything pink in the dimness of early morning. He fell into bed after brushing his teeth and slept until noon. Then he ate breakfast and took a nap from one to three, which left him feeling groggy and headachy. He forced himself to get dressed.

With nothing better to do, he began to deep-clean his house. He'd never gotten around to spring cleaning after all, so why not just do a summer cleaning instead? He could get his blood flowing and make his house look nice, and take his mind off of the fact that he had to administer a test at eight am on Tuesday and Friday. But, if he looked on the bright side, that Friday would be the last day he would need to be on campus for a while.

He hummed as he swept the hallway.

When the sun set, Chuck began to walk to the lake.

The water was still stained pink and gold when he came out of the trees, and he couldn't help but stare at how pretty the scene was. He looked up at the few soft clouds floating in the sky as he made his way to the rotting dock, kicking his shoes off as he went. He left his socks and shoes near the abandoned shed and sat on the end of the pier with his bare feet in the water and waited for the swans to make an appearance.

As if aware that he was waiting, they came early. They alighted on the water with barely a ripple, and circled each other briefly before drifting toward him. He was a little nervous—Lucifer, he had met, but Michael? He didn't even know if Michael had been aware of his little spying habit. Probably. Still... he wanted to introduce himself.

They both shed their swan forms at the same time. Lucifer stood back a little bit while his friend (brother, perhaps?) stepped toward Chuck.

Chuck held his hand out. "Michael, right?"

Michael nodded and let Chuck pull him up onto the dock. He draped his feathers across the wood and settled beside Chuck. Remained silent for a few minutes before speaking softly. "My brother told me about you."

"Oh, so he _is_ your brother?"

Michael shook his head.

At Chuck's confused expression, he smiled, just a little bit. "Not in the way you think." He looked out over the water. Watched Lucifer pour handfuls of water over himself. He shook his head. "I suppose something more like 'brethren,' or... more like lovers." He shrugged. "We're very close."

"Lovers? Like—so do you... do stuff?" Chuck picked at the hem of his shirt.

Away in the water, Lucifer laughed.

Michael nodded. "We do."

Chuck frowned. "But—well, don't swans mate monogamously? For life?" He looked down at his lap.

"For the most part, yes." Michael focused his gaze on Chuck—in the dimming light, Chuck could see that his eyes were shadowed all around with black and that red lined the lower lid. Not like makeup at all, though. Even his waterline was red. Chuck sighed and looked away.

"What—what do you mean, 'for the most part'?"

"I mean," Michael moved closer, so that their thighs brushed—bare skin against denim—and planted his hand just behind Chuck, near his hip. "I don't mind that you slept with him." His voice was a soft whisper at Chuck's ear. Chuck shivered. Turned his head so their eyes met.

"Oh..." He found himself going a little cross-eyed, as Michael inched closer. "Okay."

He wasn't surprised when Michael kissed him. He'd been expecting it, really. But he still pulled in a shocked little breath through his nose before leaning into it. Michael's arm came up around his waist, and Chuck was glad of that because he probably would have fallen over backwards without the extra support. And that would have been embarrassing.

Lucifer whistled, and Chuck jumped. He pulled away from Michael as much as he could without actually leaving his side—he was warm and smelled nice. Chuck cleared his throat. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize!" Lucifer splashed his way over and stopped directly in front of Chuck. He set his hands on the edge of the dock on either side of Chuck's knees and stepped between his legs. He stood at eyelevel with Chuck, thanks to the height of the dock. "What did you do to apologize for? Nothing."

"But—"

"Shhh." Lucifer grabbed Chuck's face in his hands, barely holding in a smug smirk. "We like you." His thumb scraped over Chuck's stubbly cheek, as he let his hands drop a little.

"Why me?"

Lucifer's smile gentled. Still self-satisfied, but much less sharp. "Because, even though we don't know you well, we can tell what kind of person you are. And we like that." He leaned his forehead against Chuck's. Pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You're cute, and bad at hiding. And noisy. And we like the unshaven hobo look."

Chuck spluttered. "Excuse me—I'm not a hobo!"

A quiet laugh, and Lucifer dropped his hands to Chuck's knees, slid them up his legs, and kissed him more firmly. "Whatever you say."

Chuck melted, and he was even more glad of Michael's arm at his back. He tried not to lean back too much, but he couldn't help how jelly-like he became when Lucifer kissed him. Maybe it was because of what had happened the first night they kissed, but he felt all hot and flustered and weak. Light-headed. Lucifer's hands were so cold that when he touched Chuck, the smaller man jumped.

Distracted by Lucifer's icy hands slipping under his shirt, Chuck almost didn't notice Michael's lips on the back of his neck. But when he realized they were both kissing him, he became aware of every piece of himself all at once, and blushed.

Michael had moved to sit directly behind him, bracketing him with his legs and holding him up with his warm hands on Chuck's hips. Lucifer remained standing between Chuck's thighs, with cold fingertips tracing lightly up his spine.

"Wait." Chuck pushed lightly at Lucifer's shoulder until he backed away.

Lucifer looked at him with an expression of cat-like confusion.

"I can't have a threesome on a dock!" Chuck frowned.

Lucifer laughed and shook his head. "I suppose you're right." His hands drifted down and settled just above the waistband of Chuck's jeans. He focused on Chuck's mouth with heavy-lidded eyes, pupils wide in the darkness. The ring of his iris was stark and thin, lending him an extra predatory look.

Chuck chewed on his lip, mouth twisting.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Alright." He backed away, crossing his arms. "Do you want to relocate?"

"No, I don't wanna relocate." Chuck leaned back against Michael, seemingly only partially aware that he was even there—too distracted by his own thoughts. "Can we just stay here and talk? I—I'm honestly feeling a little overwhelmed." He glanced down at his feet in the water. "I'm not used to this."

With a sigh, Lucifer muttered, "I suppose."

They only spent about an hour together, Chuck standing on the shore and skipping stones out into the water while Michael watched and Lucifer told them stories he had learned from songbirds. It was interesting, to hear him speak. The cadence of his voice lulled Chuck into a state of calmness so that by half-past eleven all he really wanted to do was lay down in a soft bed and sleep. So he decided to head home a little earlier.

Both Lucifer and Michael gave him a kiss on the cheek. He felt his face heat up, and scampered off into the trees.

The next week he spent dealing with finals.

The moment he was free from the university's clutches (for the summer, at least) he took a trip to the grocery store. He just bought little things: strawberries, nectarines, honey, some croissants, a flashlight and some batteries, and a box of Fudgsicles.

When the sun set, he put the fruits and ice cream into his small blue cooler, and shoved everything else into his cloth book bag. It took him a few minutes longer to get to the lake, with the extra weight, but it was nothing particularly noticeable. He also brought a quilt. He wanted to have a picnic. So he set the blanket down on a flattish, grassier section of ground around the lake, a bit further from the shore than usual, and set everything down. He kept the cooler closed, but put the croissants and the honey out, and set about shoving batteries into the flashlight. (He'd forgotten to, earlier.)

He didn't have long to wait until Michael showed up, alone.

He sat on the blanket when Chuck told him to. Stared while Chuck opened the cooler and pulled a small metal bowl from his book bag, and a knife. Chuck flicked the flashlight on and tucked it under his chin as he started to slice some strawberries into the bowl. He drizzled some honey over them as well. Grabbed a croissant and shoved it into his mouth while he handed Michael a fork. He kept a nectarine for himself—vaguely recalled seeing something about nectarines being bad for birds, but maybe that was just the pit or something. Still. He wouldn't take chances. Even if Michael was human shaped, that didn't mean he could eat everything Chuck could.

Chuck let the flashlight fall to the blanket as he set about eating his pastry, occasionally taking a bite from his nectarine as well.

Neither of them spoke. Felt no need to.

Later in the night, with the moon high above, Chuck played around with the flashlight. He shone it on Michael, who sat cross-legged, licking honey from his fingers. Michael smiled a little and held one hand out. "What is that," he asked. "A lantern?"

Chuck huffed out a small laugh. "Kind of." He let the light drop into Michael's open hand. Continued speaking as he pulled a Fudgsicles out of the cooler. (And those, he _definitely_ would not feed to Michael.) "Do you guys have... Well, I guess, do you have electricity where you live?"

"Oh, no." Michael pressed the head of the flashlight to his palm, and moved it around his hand. He watched the sides of his fingers turn red with the brightness from the bulb. "We make do with fire lanterns, wells, and that kind of thing. We spend most of our times as birds, anyway. Only need fire or houses sometimes. It makes winter a lot more bearable though." He smiled, and flicked the flashlight on and off a few times.

"That's neat."

Michael nodded and handed him the flashlight.

They kissed once, when Chuck was turning around to leave. Michael grabbed his wrist and moved in front of him, and briefly pushed their mouths together—no tongue, or anything like that. Simple, chaste. He smiled and slipped a magnolia blossom into Chuck's hand before letting him go.

Chuck felt a little like he'd been filled with soft, fluffy clouds for the rest of that night and into the morning.

The next night Chuck suggested they meet during the day.

"Alright." Michael, leaning against Lucifer, smiled at Chuck from the dock. "That sounds fine."

Chuck nodded, as he waded out into the water—his shorts would get wet but he didn't really care. "What time should we meet?" He splayed his fingers out and trailed them over the surface of the lake.

"Oh, any time." Lucifer locked his arms around Michael's waist, resting his chin on the slightly shorter man's shoulder. "We can't leave the lake right now."

Chuck frowned and looked up at them. "What?"

A low laugh and, "We expect to molt very soon, and we'd rather be stranded here than in a strange place, or—God forbid—with our family." He grinned, wide and feral. "We plan to stay in this area for the next six weeks or so."

"Six—six weeks?"

Michael nodded. "We lose our flight feathers just after breeding season and won't grow them back for six weeks, in Lucifer's case."

"Shut up." Lucifer mouthed at Michael's neck. "Just because you grow yours back after a month..."

Michael smiled. "Not to mention, _I_ already molted. It's not we who must stay in one area, it's Lucifer. So actually, I'm just being a kind brother and accompanying you." He tilted his head away to give Lucifer a better angle to work with—Seemed the white swan liked giving hickies to more than just Chuck.

"Wait, is that why you're so horny all the time?"

Lucifer's eyes snapped up to Chuck's. He blinked, and started to laugh. "You're not far off." His lips curled—and Chuck knew he was a bird, but that smile reminded him of a smug little kitty—and he tightened his arms around Michael's middle. "I'm always like that, though. It just... escalates... in the spring and summer."

Chuck nodded. He splashed around a little bit. "I had a girlfriend once who only liked to have sex in the last week of each month, because that was when she ovulated." He blushed. "Sorry, that was a weird thing to say."

Lucifer muffled his laughter against Michael's neck, and Michael smiled.

He visited them again the very next morning around ten and wore one of his cleaner white tank tops with his swim trunks—black and brown stripes—and a pair of leather sandals. He felt a little exposed, but it was a hotter morning than usual, so cooler was better. He straightened his sunglasses as he ducked onto the path between the magnolia trees.

The sunlight sparkled blindingly off the surface of the lake. Chuck shaded his eyes, looking out for his swans.

He spotted them out in the middle of the lake. Michael's bill stood out bright red in the cool colors of the water. His black neck curved and he raised his wings, flashing his white flight feathers. Beside him, Lucifer seemed to be sulking.

Chuck waved.

Michael began to swim toward him.

He shed his feathers and stood up. Handed his cloak to Chuck. The white patches of feathers near the bottom glimmered. Chuck hung it from a branch, and let Michael kiss him. He leaned in close and whispered, "Is he pouting?"

"Of course." Michael shot him a secretive smile. "He hates molting. Thinks he looks silly." He kissed Chuck again. "And it makes his hair stick out as a human." He pulled Chuck closer to him. Rested his hands on his waist and leaned their foreheads together. "Don't tell him... but I think it's cute."

Lucifer squawked from the edge of the lake. (He'd paddled over to the shore.)

Chuck laughed under his breath.

He spent the morning cataloging the similarities between their swan and human forms—he followed Michael out into the water and compared Michael's white streaks to his flight feathers, and his black fingers and feet to his charcoal colored webbed feet. The red line under his eyes was the same color as his beak, and his mouth was a lot redder than most people's, with a white stripe down the center of his lips. His eyelids were blackened just like his hands and toes.

When Michael opened his mouth white, at Chuck's request, Chuck found himself at a loss for words.

The inside of Michael's mouth was jet black. Now, Chuck was pretty sure that wasn't normal, even for a black swan. But there it was... black tongue and black gums. Nothing like Lucifer's—though Lucifer did have that split tongue.

Chuck gaped, a little bit. The only words he could come up with were, "Wow. You have a black mouth."

Michael snorted.

Lucifer's mouth was normal. His lips, as Chuck had noticed when he came over to his house, had a distinctly orange tint to them, like his bill. His hair was whiter than an old woman's and extremely thick, but fine. Soft to the touch, like silk threads. The black of his eyes still caught Chuck off-guard, especially with how blue his eyes were against them. They were pretty though.

Lucifer spent much of their time together in bird form, nestled against Michael's side, under his arm. Chuck stroked his feathers. Michael wrapped his other arm around Chuck.

Chuck left past noon, when he started to get hungry. He promised to be back that night, or at least the next morning. Chuck waved him off with Lucifer cradled in his arms.

That night, Chuck ended up falling asleep on his couch, and didn't go. He woke at nine and left in a fairly good mood. He liked swimming with his swans, and he liked kissing under the magnolia blossoms. He'd spent most of the last year relatively alone, except for a couple of one-night stands, so it was nice to receive affection from not one but two people. He'd grown so fond of them, as well. Had no idea when it had happened, but he just loved to be near Lucifer and Michael. Loved to feel their hands on his back or their lips on his face, cold kisses from one and warm from the other.

When he got to the lake, Lucifer was alone in the grass by the abandoned shed.

And agitated.

Chuck frowned and hastened his steps, calling out Lucifer's name. Almost immediately Lucifer shook his feather cape away and stood, reaching for Chuck. He grasped his arms and tugged him close, forehead to forehead. "Chuck." He tightened his fingers enough to hurt. "They took Michael." His eyes were wild, and his nostrils flared. He trembled, a little. "They took his skin and they took him away."

"What—when?" Chuck reached up and pressed his palms to the sides Lucifer's face—a role reversal, of sorts. "When did they take him? Who?"

Lucifer shook his head. "After you left yesterday." He curled himself around Chuck, and Chuck had to struggle to hold him up. He breathed against Chuck's neck. "He was distracted, and far out in the water with me, and I was a bird and he was a man and someone came out of the trees and grabbed his feathers and—I don't know, truly, what happened. They grabbed him." His voice dropped to a whisper. "He's gone."

"Hey, hey." Chuck ran his hand down Lucifer's spine, and back up. Stroked his skin slowly, soothingly, shushing him softly. "We'll find him, okay?"

Lucifer nodded against Chuck's shoulder but said nothing.

Chuck coaxed Lucifer back into his cloak of feathers and carried him in his arms, back to his house.

He peeled his cape away again and bundled it into the top drawer of his dresser, which locked. He slipped the key to the lock onto a chain and hung it from Lucifer's neck. "We need to find you something to wear, and then we can search for Michael, alright?" He waited for Lucifer's sullen nod before steering him to the bed and telling him to sit.

Lucifer watched Chuck search through his closet.

None of Chuck's own clothes would fit—no way in hell. Lucifer was at least six inches taller than Chuck and probably twice his width in the shoulders alone. So Chuck looked for things that had fallen to the floor and been pushed to the back of shelves. An old Joy Division t-shirt Chuck had found in a thriftstore when he was seventeen, a pair of jeans that were at least two sizes too big that he'd gotten as a Christmas gift from his grandfather three years earlier. And a pair of underwear that had definitely belonged to an ex-boyfriend. He threw those out.

Getting Lucifer into the clothes took a moment, and the jeans were actually so big that Chuck had to give Lucifer a belt. He had no clue how his granddad ever thought those would fit on him—he would have drowned in denim.

"There." Chuck crossed his arms. "You look good. But..."

Lucifer tilted his head. "...What?"

"Well," Chuck turned back to his closet and set about searching through several untouched piles of random crap. "We can pass off your hair and uh... 'eyeliner'... by saying you're just some punk rocker, but your eye whites pose an issue. Since they're not actually white, and all." He frowned. Grabbed something—pulled a pair of sunglasses from underneath some dirty laundry.

The lenses were scratched, and a basic gray gradient, with clear bright pink frames. Chuck was almost entirely sure they were real Ray-Bans he'd stolen them from a high school girlfriend. He could probably sell them for quite a bit of money. Instead, he shoved them onto Lucifer's face.

"Perfect." Chuck planted his hands on his hips. "Now people will just think you're a weirdo and not a member of the X-men."

Lucifer tilted his head.

"Why are we doing this?" Lucifer frowned and crossed his arms, clearly still agitated.

Chuck rubbed his mouth. Hooked his arm through Lucifer's and led him out of the bedroom. "We just needed to get you into something so you can actually walk around in public. You may look a little strange, but if I carried a swan around I think we'd draw more attention." He led Lucifer downstairs. "We don't want to draw any extra attention." He stopped at the back door. "Now sit down so I can help you put on some shoes."

Lucifer obeyed, and held still while Chuck shoved some polka-dotted socks onto his feet, and then laced an old pair of his father's cargo boots over them.

As Chuck helped him stand, Lucifer muttered, "I feel constricted." He looked down at his feet. "Stiff."

"Yeah, well, you're gonna have to deal with it if we want to find Michael."

Lucifer nodded.

Chuck had Lucifer tell him everything he could remember about the previous day as they left the house. Whether or not he'd glimpsed Michael's abductor, and what they looked like. What direction they came from.

"There was a short man in a black suit, and some other men in black suits. They went..." Lucifer thought for a moment. "They went East."

"East! Okay." Chuck pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled Lucifer with him away from the middle of the sidewalk to stand out of the way. "I can look up what kinds of places are in the east side of town."

He found the usual types of places—a bar, a Chinese restaurant, a Rite Aid. A small private menagerie that was open to the public between noon and five on weekdays. Chuck hummed. "A zoo would be too obvious..." He bit his lip. "It's definitely the zoo. Come on." He pocketed his phone and dragged Lucifer to the nearest bus stop.

Despite having its address listed on its website, the zoo was surprisingly hard to find. There were no animal noises to lead them to it. No large signs. Just a black and gold Victorian mansion with "Savage Menagerie" written in gold leaf on the window. A tall black fence surrounded the property behind the house. Its face was bared to the sidewalk, gold door shining in the sun, and the stairs gave way to a path of black and gold checkered tiles.

"I can't tell if this place is pretty or tacky." Chuck dragged Lucifer closer to the fence, and peered between two slats. He couldn't see much—just a slice of green grass. He sighed. "Maybe we should wait until it opens and pay to go in?" He glanced at Lucifer over his shoulder. The other man shrugged. He wouldn't meet Chuck's eyes. Just kept tapping his foot on the sidewalk and staring off down the street.

Chuck pushed himself away from the fence and back toward Lucifer. "Hey," He put his hand at the small of Lucifer's back and smiled up at him, sweetly. "We'll get him back. It's okay. I promise."

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Come on. Let's go get some coffee while we wait."

Lucifer reluctantly let himself be dragged across the street to a small café that ran out of a little purple house surrounded by the remnants of late spring lilacs. They sat in a seat by the window. Chuck sipped on an iced mocha and Lucifer stared at the dark mansion with its imposing fence. He kept his sunglasses on, and picked at the modest salad Chuck had ordered for him. It tasted good, but he was too distracted to really enjoy it.

Chuck reached across the table to take his hand. "Relax. Thirty minutes, and we can try to find him." He stroked Lucifer's knuckles, and gave him what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

All he got in return was a half-hearted shrug and a soft, worried noise from the back of Lucifer's throat.

He moved his chair around so he sat directly beside Lucifer. This also gained him a direct view of the mansion. He leaned on Lucifer's shoulder, still stroking the back of his hand, and hummed a soft melody. Lucifer's trembling died down under his touch, though he still sat stiff and tense, with his jaw tight. Chuck kissed his fingertips.

Once, the woman working in the café—the only one, at that time of day, apparently—stopped by and asked if "the lovely couple" would like anything else or if she could take their dishes. Chuck handed her the china with a smile and said, "We're good, thanks."

She simpered at him and scurried away.

As noon drew nearer, and a blonde woman in a sleek black suit stepped out of the house, Lucifer's hand tightened around Chuck's. He followed her every move, as she stepped off the porch and unlocked a gate in the fence—it had blended in, merely being of black slats just like the rest of the fence, so Chuck hadn't noticed it at first. She propped the gate open, and turned a sign hanging from a gold chain that crossed the now-open space. Then she stepped over the sign and sat down just inside the fence. Presumably, she worked admission.

Lucifer began to fidget. Noticeably. Chuck, used to being the twitchy one and not the comforting one more often than not, found himself at somewhat of a loss. But he placed his hand on Lucifer's back and rubbed his thumb in circles—something that often made him feel better, when he was with another person. Lucifer didn't relax, exactly, but he seemed slightly more at ease, despite his worrying.

Just a few more minutes...

When the hour hand on Chuck's hand stopped over the twelve, he stood. Calmly. Lucifer lurched to his feet beside him, disconcertingly awkward in his nervous state. Chuck ducked under Lucifer's arm, slipping his hand around and down to hook his middle finger through the belt loop on Lucifer's jeans. Lucifer's arm settled around Chuck's shoulder and he relaxed, as though the smaller man's presence against his side soothed him.

They walked across the street like that.

The blonde woman raised her eyebrows at them, but said nothing other than, "Twenty dollars."

Chuck rummaged through his wallet and pulled out a crumpled twenty. He held it out to her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Each."

"Oh—sorry." Chuck scrounged up two tens and handed those to her as well, and she pulled the sign aside just enough for them to squeeze through the gate and into the garden.

The sight that greeted them was... it was a mixture of beauty and, if Chuck were honest, suffering. Complete silence, and glass cages. A weeping willow hung down over a small glass box full of snakes, all writhing around each other in thick knots. Across the yard, a mottled big cat lay curled in on itself, back facing them. Nearer, a peacock walked around a little patch of flowers with its tail fanned out.

Animals everywhere.

A graceful albino mountain lion chained to a flowering apple tree, pacing, watching Chuck and Lucifer warily. A wolf in a round glass enclosure. More snakes, all gem-colored and draped like jewelry on the boughs of a flowering tree. Multi-colored birds with clipped wings standing in the shallow waters of intricately decorated birdbaths.

Not a single animal made more than the quietest sound.

The birds did not sing and the canines did not bark and the big cats did not growl.

They moved further into the broad space of grass and glass, Chuck pressing tighter against Lucifer's side. This place... couldn't have been legal. He felt certain the conditions classified as animal abuse. Or at least neglect. They walked past what Chuck at first thought was a bronze statue, but it blinked it's broad gold-coin eyes once, and he realized it was a leopard with a coat so dark and coppery it nearly sparkled in the sunlight.

Chuck inched past the poor creature, and she stared straight ahead. Barely twitched. Just gazed and gazed at the black fence across the yard.

Chuck turned his eyes downward. Stopped for a moment to lean his forehead against Lucifer's chest and watched the grass under their feet shift in the breeze.

He wanted to leave.

The mournful coo of a dove sounded in the stillness.

"Let's find Michael." Chuck kept his voice a low whisper, and moved on.

A few steps further, and Lucifer stiffened. "There." He hurried toward a perfectly round pond with its bottom done in a mosaic of golden tiles made to look like the sun. At the far edge there was a bundle of feathers, all bristled and black. Lucifer hissed Michael's name and dropped to his knees beside the pond, trying to get a better look.

The swan raised his long neck almost immediately. Swam over to Lucifer, and pressed his head into his partner's broad palm. He fanned his wings—clipped.

Lucifer made a wounded noise in the back of his throat. He kissed the top of Michael's head and smoothed the feathers of his neck with two fingers. He wanted to do more—wanted to bundle his brother into his arms and take him back to the lake and just cradle him close.

He murmured, "How dare they..." and wrapped his arms around Michael as best he could.

Suddenly, a woman shouted, "Hey! Don't touch the animals!"

Lucifer flinched, and let Chuck pull him back to his feet. He managed to look suitably contrite despite his fury and sadness. Chuck squeezed his arm.

"I know it's a pretty bird, but you can't just go around petting these things." It was not the blonde woman from the gateway, but rather a different blond—a sharp-faced young woman with a bowl cut and almond-shaped eyes. She crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one leg. "Move along."

Resisting the urge to lash out, Lucifer held his tongue, and stepped away from the pond. He gave Michael one last glance before turning away.

Chuck pulled him off to the side, near the fence. Leaned up on his tiptoes to press a brief kiss to his lips. "We can get him back. It's okay." He slid his hands down Lucifer's front and let them pause on his belt. "I promise."

"_How?_" Lucifer wrapped his fingers around Chuck's wrists, tight and cold. "This is not some... simple little place. I can't grab him and run. Those women have weapons." It was true, both of the two blondes wore a Taser strapped to her thigh.

"We'll think of something." Chuck stretched up again to peck Lucifer's cheek.

Lucifer sighed.

At that moment, three other people came into the garden. Two men and a woman, all dressed in light clothes for the summer weather. The shorter of the men carried himself like a CEO, all charming smiles and obvious condescension. The woman just in front of him wore a white sundress, and her blonde curls hung to her chest—the number of blonde women in the yard seemed to be growing exponentially. She was pretty, but a little threatening. She was nothing, though, compared to the taller man that brought up the rear. He was taller than Lucifer, probably 6'4" if Chuck had to guess. Long face, salt-and-pepper hair, scruff. He seemed friendly enough, as he shook one of the guards' hands, but something about him just... He emanated this smooth, honey-sweet aura of absolute wolfishness.

Chuck thought he was terrifying. Lucifer's cool presence at his side became a balm—their proximity morphed into a help for them both. Lucifer needed Chuck's reassurance and Chuck needed to feel safe.

The slightly shorter (still taller than Chuck by at least five inches) business-man type immediately headed toward the glass box of snakes.

The woman—the tall man called her Lilith—made her way toward the burnt bronze-furred leopard Chuck had been so startled by earlier. "Alastair," She swept her curls over her shoulder and bent down, looking the big cat square in the eye. "Isn't it beautiful?" She glanced over her shoulder when a response was not forthcoming. Her expression darkened. "_Isn't_ it?"

Alastair nodded, slow and smooth. "It is." His voice was sweet like honey, but something sounded off in it. Maybe he had a strange accent, or maybe it was something else, but it raised goosebumps up Chuck's skin.

He tugged Lucifer toward the shade of the apple tree. Avoided the chained cougar, and rubbed his face with sweaty palms. "I really don't like this place." He took a deep, shuddering breath.

More than just Michael's clipped wings and confinement to a tiny decorative pond... all of the animals' states already put him on edge. That combined with these slick, disturbing clients, made him feel like someone had covered his skin in microscopic strands of spider web. He shuddered.

Lucifer reached out to touch his neck. Curled his fingers, chilly and comforting, against Chuck's skin. He, too, was visibly shaken—though the large, brightly colored sunglasses on his face disguised some of his agitation. But his hands trembled and his jaw was clenched.

A loud hiss cut the air, and Lucifer whirled, shoulders tensing, fingers tightening to form fists.

In his pond, Michael bristled, spreading his wings in a display of aggression and hissing again. Lilith looked down at him like he was a piece of meat and laughed. "I didn't even touch him!" She shook her head. "What a touchy little thing."

Lucifer swallowed back whatever he wanted to say and let Chuck pull him closer to the tree.

The woman began a conversation with Alastair.

Chuck and Lucifer listened in, as they nestled between the apple tree and the fence.

"We _are_ coming back tonight for the..." Lilith glanced around, and stage whispered the next word: "_freak show_..." She paused. "Right?" Raised a perfect eyebrow as she stared Alastair down.

He murmured, "Of course," and smiled like an crocodile.

"Freak show...?" Lucifer kept his voice soft, a breath of air against Chuck's temple.

But the woman heard him, somehow. "Oh yes," She stepped nearer to them, with Alastair just behind. "There's a freak show, every other night."

"Mr. Crowley prefers the term 'exhibition,' dearest sister." That was the woman with the bowl cut, standing on the steps that led to the back door of the mansion. "He doesn't like to think of his pretty people as abnormal. Just special."

Lilith rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Meg." She stopped just in front of Lucifer and Chuck. "There's an _exhibition_ every other night. Midnight to three in the morning. All of my godfather's strange, pretty people." She simpered. "You ought to come, but—" She paused, with a titter. "It's expensive."

"How expensive?" Lucifer straightened his shoulders, and scowled down at her.

She smirked. "Sixty-six dollars and sixty cents." A roll of her eyes. "Charming little price, isn't it? Anyway, along with that price it has a strict dress code, which I sincerely doubt the two of could manage." She eyed them up and down. "Judging by the state of what you're wearing now, at least."

Chuck groaned and rubbed his eyes, and Lilith's eyes snapped toward him. She squinted, and tilted her head, still smiling. Tapped a finger against her lips.

"My," she said. "You're just adorable. I could eat you up."

Lucifer stepped in front of Chuck with a low warning noise in the back of his throat, like a growl. Chuck wanted to be offended, that Lucifer felt the need to protect him or possess him, but in all honesty he appreciated the gesture. Especially because it gave him an excuse not to look at Lilith or her apparent servant.

Lilith laughed. "Touchy. And possessive." A pause. "I like it."

And then she was gone.

Alastair lingered, and Chuck avoided looking at him—his gaze held hunger and amusement, and it sent shivers through Chuck's body. He slipped further behind Lucifer and waited for the tall man to leave. Eventually, he did. Followed after Lilith, to the other side of the garden. The other man joined them as well.

"I don't like them."

"I know," Lucifer's voice came out as a low snarl. "I don't either."

"We're going to have to find some money." He sighed, "And clothes."

Lucifer hummed.

They spent the rest of the afternoon searching Chuck's house up and down. Chuck found his only suit fairly quickly. It was brown. Then came the issue of money and of clothing Lucifer. He left Lucifer alone in his house for a few minutes, and took out exactly one-hundred thirty three dollars and twenty cents.

Next, he spent far too much money to rent a suit for Lucifer. For some reason Lucifer latched immediately onto a white one. It was a little ridiculous, but when he tried it on it actually looked fairly good, especially accented with a wine-red tie with matching pocket square and leather shoes. The only problem remaining, at that point, was the issue of Lucifer's inky black sclera.

"Maybe we can pretend you're blind and find some fancier sunglasses to cover your eyes." Chuck stared at him for a few long moments. "No, they'll never believe that."

Lucifer watched him from where he sat at the dining room table, with the suit in its black bag laid out directly in front of him. He was tense, again. Hadn't really stopped being tense since Chuck found him alone at the lake. He drummed his fingers against the suit bag and stared and stared and stared, disconcertingly.

Chuck turned his back to Lucifer, and pulled out his phone. He would use his laptop, normally, but it needed to be repaired. Something about a Trojan. So instead he did a few quick Google searches on his smartphone, humming the whole while. He seemed to find something he liked—"There are these things called scleral lenses... We could claim you're wearing those, for like... medical reasons. Light sensitivity or something. Pair them with fake glasses maybe." He paused. Scrolled and clicked on something.

"Or..."

Lucifer frowned. "What?"

"Well, it's a stretch, but more believable than contacts." Chuck pocketed his phone and sat across from Lucifer. "We can just say you have a disease. People will eat that up."

"Alright."

They spent the rest of the day waiting for nightfall.

When the sun set, Lucifer grew increasingly more fidgety.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Chuck straightened his tie and reached for his hands. He laced their fingers together—his hands were dwarfed by Lucifer's. "Calm down." He coaxed Lucifer toward the front door. "And I thought _I_ was an anxious person." His weak laugh died off almost immediately—he tried to be lighthearted, but really he was as worried as Lucifer.

"I've been with Michael since I was small." Lucifer let himself be led outside, clutching Chuck's hand tighter. (He liked how warm and soft they were against his palm.) "I've never been away from him for more than a few hours at a time."

Chuck let out a noisy breath. "Wow." He leaned against Lucifer as they walked.

"Exactly."

The moon began to rise.

In the dark of the night, several opulently dressed people loitered on the black and gold porch of the Savage Menagerie. Chuck trailed just behind Lucifer as they walked up the tiled path—it wasn't that he was nervous, exactly. He just really had next to no experience in these kinds of places or situations. He wasn't wealthy. Never had been. Kept to himself, and rarely left the house except for food and his job. So fancy parties weren't his thing.

Of course, Lucifer knew even less about fancy parties. But he held himself with a great deal more confidence and aggression than Chuck. He walked as if he belonged there. So Chuck held Lucifer's arm, feeling strangely like a Victorian lady, and let himself be sucked into the surprisingly energetic mansion.

Many people filled the rooms inside. A few hung their jackets—of white fur or fine wool, and far too warm and heavy for the summer. Others milled around, seemingly waiting for something. One of the women from earlier—Meg, Chuck thought her name was—stood at the base of a black velvet-lined staircase. She dispensed tickets from a little contraption strapped to her belt and let guests up the stairs one or two at a time.

Chuck and Lucifer found themselves behind a redhead dressed in a black tuxedo with scarlet pumps. Once, she glanced over her shoulder, and her lips were the color of blood, and her eyeliner was more sharply winged than that of anyone Chuck had ever seen. She turned back away, and Chuck sighed with relief. She scared him.

When they reached the front of the line, Lucifer held out the money, and Meg handed him two little golden pins, shaped like roses. "Those are the tickets," she drawled. "Put them somewhere visible." Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment, before she shook her head and shooed them on.

"She noticed your eyes." Chuck stuck the little gold flower onto his lapel. Took Lucifer's hand as they walked up the stairs.

Lucifer nodded. "She did."

The landing was also covered in black velvet. No carpets in sight, only inky velvet edged in the finest golden embroidery of twisting rose vines. The wainscoting on the walls were of a deep brown wood almost the color of charcoal, and the wallpaper itself looked like black brocade silk, with a bit of gold thread in subtle spots.

All in all it was terrifyingly elegant and gaudy in equal measures.

Golden chiffon hung in elegant waves from the ceiling, pinned in soft drapes, and filtered a soft light over everything. Filigreed arrows—thin and sharp—pointed out a little pathway, hung on the wall every five feet.

A corner, and then a hall of doors, painted the same color as the arrows and glazed in a strange way that made them seem slick and wet.

A sign hung on each door—black with gold leaf words. Each read something different. One said "Mermaid," and another said, "Snake Man," and so on and so forth.

Lucifer moved ahead, searching each sign for something to tell him where Michael might be. Chuck lingered at the beginning of the hall, just beside the first door. ("Bronze Leopardess.")

"Hmm..." A voice sounded from behind Chuck, and he jumped. He turned to see the woman from that afternoon—Lilith, in a slinky white dress that fell in swathes of silk to the floor. She smiled like a snake. "Alastair, my pet, what shall we see first?" She ran a finger down his arm, and spared a briefly condescending glance at Chuck as she passed him.

Alastair's gaze lingered on Chuck however, as he murmured, "I rather like the view right here."

Lilith rolled her eyes and walked away.

This left Alastair alone with Chuck, who pressed his back against the wood paneling of the wall. He tried to make himself smaller and adjusted his glasses—he'd opted to wear them with his suit because, although he hated them, they made him look a little more... _sophisticated_.

"Hello, little sparrow." Alastair boxed Chuck in against the wall, his hand pressed into the brocade wallpaper just over Chuck's head. He drifted close. Stared down at him, unblinking, with a slick poisonous smile. "I noticed, this afternoon... You just radiate edibility..." The lilt of his voice sent shivers up Chuck's spine, and he continued to speak, soft and honeyed. "You really should accompany me... elsewhere." A pause. A long stare, full of hunger.

Chuck closed his eyes, wishing he could melt away into the wall. "Please leave me alone."

"I'd love to devour you..."

A hand on his face, and Chuck felt his skin crawling. He wanted to move away, but there was nowhere to go. Just the wall at his back and Alastair's tall frame caging him in. Chuck wrapped his fingers around Alastair's wrist in an attempt to pry him away but it didn't do much good—the man was strong.

"Oh dear, we can't have that, can we?" Alastair twisted his hand and suddenly it was his fingers wrapped around Chuck's wrist rather than the other way around. He hunched down, lowering his voice as he pinned Chuck's hand against the wallpaper. "Little birds shouldn't struggle."

Chuck's mind raced with scenarios and actions he could utilize, but none of them seemed plausible. He'd never really dealt with this kind of invasion of space, and he had no clue how to handle the situation. All he knew of self-defense was "go for the back of the knees and run," which was completely useless in preventing assault. He tried to focus, though. Tried to narrow his thoughts and ignore Alastair's breath against his temple.

His panicked musings were interrupted by a furious shout, however.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?!"

Lucifer. Yelling. Wrenching Alastair away with one hand, and pushing Chuck back with the other.

Chuck slid down the wall and sat with a slow exhale.

Lucifer grabbed Alastair by the collar and shoved him up against one of the many glistening doors with a loud bang. Tightened his grip and growled, "_You don't touch him_."

Alastair laughed, hand fastening around Lucifer's wrist. He twisted until Lucifer hissed and took a step back, and then moved in a quick blur of motion that ended with his knee shoved into Lucifer's stomach. Lucifer grunted, and stumbled. Stepped back. Made a move, as though he were giving up already.

"Done so soon?" Alastair's voice came sweet and rotten.

At his words, Lucifer whirled and slammed his fist into the side of Alastair's face, with a sickening crack that made Chuck wince where he sat.

Another laugh, more labored, and Alastair rubbed his jaw. He spit a mouthful of blood onto the carpet. "You really got me good, Black-eyes."

Lucifer threw a second punch that Alastair ducked, before grabbing Lucifer around the waist and pushing him bodily toward the far wall. Shoved him so that his head hit the wall with a loud thunk, and elbowed him in the face. Lucifer didn't make a sound. Just shook his head with a twisted grimace of pain.

Alastair let out a low chuckle, and a murmur of, "Pathetic man can't even protect his _whore's_ honor."

At that, Lucifer lurched toward Alastair.

Alastair kicked him in the knee, and Lucifer stumbled but used it to his advantage and lunged forward, head-butting Alastair in the area just under his solar plexus. Alastair easily shoved him aside, and moved to walk past him, but Lucifer wouldn't let him. He jumped Alastair—fastened his arms around the taller man's throat and wrapped his legs tightly around his waist, and clung to his back.

All attempts to dislodge Lucifer failed, and Alastair stumbled.

Despite the fact that Alastair should have been able to overpower him with ease, Lucifer held fast. Squeezed his arms tighter for a moment, but then finally slipped off after Alastair slammed him back against the wall.

Chuck watched, tense and a little terrified, while Lucifer landed several blows to the back of Alastair's head, neck and knees, bringing him down with a grunt.

Before he could do anything else, though, Alastair hooked his arm round Lucifer's leg and pulled him. Lucifer's back hit the floor and his breath rushed out, but he didn't let that hinder him. At the same time his head hit the carpet, he kicked out and his heel connected solidly with Alastair's nose. The force behind the blow made Alastair's head snap up, and he stumbled, and fell to the floor, hand to his face. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose onto the black velvet.

Lucifer hauled himself up and shoved Alastair down against the carpet. He sat on Alastair's chest and leaned so close their foreheads almost touched, and wrapped his fingers around Alastair's neck.

His thumbs dug against Alastair's throat, and the man let out a wheezing laugh as he grasped Lucifer's wrists in an attempt to dislodge his grip.

"You listen to me." Lucifer briefly tightened his fingers. His nose brushed against Alastair's. "If you lay a finger on what belongs to me ever again..." Wild-eyed, nostrils flared, breathing harshly. "If you so much as glance at him, or anyone else who is mine..."

A long pause.

Alastair was beginning to look dazed. Oxygen-deprived.

Finally, Lucifer spoke again. "...I _will_ kill you."

He stood, then.

Alastair gasped, when Lucifer's hands left his throat.

Lucifer briefly looked down at Alastair with a look of disgust on his face. He began to turn. Reconsidered. Stopped, eyed Alastair, and gave him one last hard kick in the head before moving toward Chuck. He held out his hand. Chuck took it, and Lucifer hauled him to his feet. He wrapped his arm around Chuck's shoulders as they walked down to the end of the hallway, ignoring the soft sound of people speaking behind them.

"You got blood on the jacket..." Chuck stopped walking, and tugged at Lucifer until he turned to face him. "And your face..." He ran his thumb lightly over the growing red mark under Lucifer's eye. It would bruise badly, he expected. "You shouldn't have done that."

"No, probably not." Lucifer leaned down and pressed his lips to Chuck's forehead, sliding a hand up the side of his face. "But I needed to, anyway. You're my mate, and no one other than myself or Michael is allowed to touch you like that..."

Chuck nodded. "Thanks, I guess." He wore a small frown, still worried.

Voices rose from down the hall. Clearly someone had decided to report the brawl—why they waited so long, though, Chuck had no idea. He turned to face the door they'd stopped in front of.

"Swan Prince," it said.

Lucifer gently urged Chuck to the side, as the voices and steps grew louder. He prepared himself. Stepped back just the slightest bit... Rolled his shoulders.

Someone turned the corner just as he kicked the door open.

They shouted.

He ushered Chuck inside, slamming the gold door shut behind them. Cast around for something to barricade the door—a sturdy wooden dresser caught his eye and he set about shoving it in front of the door as fast as he could. Its feet scraped loudly on the blackish wooden floorboards, as it slid into place. Someone rattled the doorknob, and tried to open the door to no avail—it only opened the tiniest crack. He shoved the dresser harder against the door, so it snapped shut.

For good measure, he grabbed a heavy chest and dropped it on top of the dresser. It made a massive thud, and some of the wood splintered. When someone shoved at the door again, the weighed-down dresser didn't budge.

He turned to Chuck, whose eyes were fixed on the four-poster bed in the corner of the room.

Followed his line of sight.

"Michael..."

Michael sat on the bed, eyes wide as he took in Lucifer's bruised face and bloodstained suit. His legs were crossed, Indian-style as they call it, and his hands folded in his lap. He wore a collar around his neck, thick black leather with gold roses embossed on it. Hanging from his shoulders, sheer black fabric draped across his body. It wrapped around his waist as well, fastened with gold. Gold bangles adorned his wrists and feet.

He scrambled off the bed. "Lucifer—" He turned. "Chuck." Embraced them both.

"Brother—darling, beautiful Michael." Lucifer kissed Michael's forehead twice. "We have to get out of this place."

"The windows don't open."

Chuck extricated himself from his swans' arms and cast around for something heavy.

His heart caught in his throat every time someone banged on the door.

There, a miniature bronze reproduction of a Greek statue.

He picked it up and hurled it at the window—the glass shattered spectacularly, and Chuck began to pull the silk hangings from the bed. To his relief, the hangings were composed of one long strip of fabric, made to look like more than one piece. He tied one end of the silk to the foot of the bed—nailed to the floor- and threw the other out the window. It didn't reach the ground, but it was long enough, and right beside the sidewalk.

Another heavy thud at the door. More substantial than people alone.

"Go!" Lucifer herded them both to the window.

Chuck Clambered out first, with Michael just behind. Lucifer brought up the rear.

The moment Lucifer's feet touched the ground, Chuck had one hand on his arm and the other on Michael's and was running across the street with them in tow. He moved for the first open place he saw... a donut shop. The door jingled loudly when they burst through the doors, and the woman working there blinked in surprise.

"We're being chased."

She nodded, and said, "The bathroom window leads into the alley."

Chuck could have laughed or kissed her but instead he just shouted, "Thank you so much" and pulled Michael and Lucifer after him. He bolted the bathroom door shut behind them. He looked around. three stalls and a frosted glass window over the sinks, just big enough to fit a grown man through. He hopped up onto one of the sinks and unlocked the window, and pushed it open. It creaked in protest but eventually swung up. He held his hand out to Michael.

Michael shed his layers of gauzy fabric first—they were getting in his way and would likely get caught in something. Shrugged out of the sheer slip underneath, as well. Clad only in rings and bangles, with a skirt-like garment of black feathers as the only thing to protect his modesty, Michael followed Chuck out the window.

The gravel of the alleyway cut into his bare feet, but he ignored the pain and ran, jingling a little from the many layers of chains and loops of gold around his throat and arms and ankles. As he ran, he reached up and loosened the buckle of the collar at his neck. Tugged the thing free and tossed it to the ground.

He took Chuck's hand, and nearly tripped when the other man turned sharply and pulled him into a shadowy storefront.

The air was heavy with incense, and the light dim. Chuck pulled him deeper into the reaches of the store. Clothes lined the walls, and hung from racks, and geodes and semi-precious stones sat on shelves, interspersed with jewelry and strange little trinkets.

At the counter in the back of the store, a tired looking woman eyed the three of them. "Can I help you?" She tapped her long nails against the wood.

"Yeah, sorry, um—" Chuck brought Michael forward. "Can we trade this jewelry for clothes?"

"What's it made of?"

"Gold."

"Sure."

Lucifer kept watch at the entrance to the store, while Chuck helped Michael peel all of the metal off of himself, and they piled it onto the counter. No one seemed to have caught on to their trail, or else they weren't bothering to chase at all. But he didn't want to take chances.

After a few minutes, Chuck came over and shoved a leather jacket into Lucifer's arms, along with a pair of ripped jeans and some running shoes. "Change," he whispered. Gestured to Michael, who already wore a pair of gray slacks and was pulling a half-buttoned dress shirt over his head. Chuck made a soft noise with his tongue and moved to help Michael with his clothes.

Lucifer stripped and changed, and shoved his stained white suit and shoes into a plastic bag Chuck handed him—it was labeled "New Age Thriftstore." Creative. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Come on." Chuck still wore most of his own clothes, though he'd shed his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. He took Lucifer's hand, and pulled Michael along as well. On their way out the door Lucifer grabbed a straw sunhat and shoved it onto Michael's head, snatching some sunglasses for himself.

Though Lucifer limped, heavily favoring the knee Alastair had kicked earlier, they made it home with no troubles—keeping to the back roads and shadowy places.

By the time there were walking up Chuck's driveway, Lucifer was not the only one limping. Michael walked with delicate steps and a twisted face. The moment they were through the front door Chuck steered him into the living room and sat him down on the couch. He crouched in front of him and lifted his feet.

A long gash stretched horizontally across Michael's heel, and various other little scrapes and cuts broke the skin everywhere else.

"I'm not used to walking around so much in this form..." Michael ducked his head, and avoided looking at Chuck.

Chuck made a soft shushing sound, and leaned up to kiss Michael before leaving the room. He was back in no time at all with a first aid kit. He coaxed Michael to lean against the arm of the couch, and sat down beside him, pulling his feet into his lap. Lucifer moved to support him, sliding in between him and the arm of the couch and wrapping his arms around Michael's waist. He pressed small kisses to Michael's face and neck while Chuck worked on disinfecting Michael's wound, picking a few tiny bits of gravel away from it, and bandaged it carefully.

"All done." Chuck stroked the top of Michael's uninjured foot and smiled.

Michael slowly relaxed, between them. His eyes slipped partway closed, even, as he leaned back against Lucifer and enjoyed the warmth of Chuck's fingers over his feet. But he whispered, "We forgot my feathers."

"How do we get them back?"

"I don't know."

They fell into silence.

Stayed a few minutes longer on the couch, but eventually Chuck helped them both up the stairs, arms wrapped around their waists, and they changed into softer clothes and turned off all the lights and closed the curtains, and settled down in Chuck's bed. They almost didn't fit, but Chuck curled around Michael's back and Lucifer bracketed him in from the other side, and they covered themselves with blankets and slept like that.

In the morning, Chuck left Michael and Lucifer sleeping in his bed and padded downstairs to make coffee. He sat on his couch with a mug in one hand, a stale bagel in the other, and turned on the TV. He waited for the news to start.

Nothing about a mansion with a newly broken window. Unsurprising. Considering the various illegal goings-on in that place, Chuck wasn't surprised no one had reported anything—not the fistfight between Lucifer and Alastair, not the property damage... nothing.

Chuck debated calling the police.

But the chaos that would ensue... He had no idea how that would be helpful for them to find Michael's cloak.

But at the same time, with Lucifer and Michael injured... neither of them could sneak in to retrieve it. Not to mention neither could even fly so it would all have to be on foot even after the retrieval of the feathers, and Michael probably never wanted to see the place again. Chuck himself couldn't go—even if he _was_ a competent person as far as sneaking about went, they probably had security footage of him in connection with Lucifer... so that idea was a no-go.

Chuck was about to switch channels when the Savage Menagerie _did_ appear on screen.

Bathed in flames.

"Oh God—" Chuck stared at the screen in a panic. He imagined all the creatures that had inhabited the house, and how scared they would be, trapped like that. And Michael's feathers... "_Oh_ _no_." He stayed still and silent and held his breath, tapping the volume up.

"—devastating fire right now at the home of a certain Mr. Crowley." The news reported gestured to the live video feed. "Firefighters arrived on the scene not moments ago, and are currently inside ensuring that no people or animals have been trapped. As you can see, this Crowley fellow seems to have quite a lot of exotic animals on the property." She gestured again, and Chuck squinted at the video. The sidewalk and front yard swarmed with many of the animals Chuck had seen on display. A firefighter emerged from the backyard with the box of snakes in his arms, and the reporter continued. "The police are already testing the idea that this fire may _not_ have been accidental, judging by the obvious illegality of the way these animals are kept."

Chuck tuned her voice out and focused on the video feed. A stout man with thinning black hair and a black suit stood amongst the animals, gesticulating wildly at a police officer and a fireman, shouting. The blonde guards stood behind him, stone-faced.

The fire seemed to be dying down, as it was pummeled with water. But, with no warning whatsoever, a ball of greenish fire exploded from the house, blowing out several windows and causing a section of the roof to cave in. The fire strengthened in that area, and reached out into the sky.

Another explosion, and Chuck flinched as a wall ruptured outward and the rest of the roof collapsed. One firefighter ran from the house, then two more. Chuck hoped they were the only ones who had been inside.

Wide-eyed, staring as the flames devoured the menagerie, Chuck found himself suddenly snapped into reality by the sound Lucifer shouting his name from upstairs. Again, "_Chuck!_"

Chuck wasted no time in running for the stairs, not even bothering to turn off the television. He took the steps two at a time as Lucifer shouted for him again. He burst into his bedroom and was greeted with the sight of Michael, coiled into a tight ball, held fast in Lucifer's arms—He seemed to be trying to gouge at his back, face pressed into the sheets, toes curled. Lucifer gripped his wrists too tightly, though. Prevented him from scratching himself.

Michael didn't make a sound but he obviously suffered no less, judging by the way his back arched, and how shallow his breath came. He all but writhed in Lucifer's hold.

Lucifer's fingers tightened around Michael's arms, and he half-knelt on the bed, with one foot on the wooden floor as he pinned his struggling mate to the sheets. Managed to get on top of Michael and pinion his hands to the bed, while he settled with his knees on either side of Michael's chest and sat on his lower back.

"Michael—" Chuck rushed over to them. Grabbed Lucifer's shoulder and almost moved to place his hand on Michael's as well, but pulled back at the last moment. He didn't know what would or would not be alright—didn't want to hurt Michael any further, even accidentally. _Especially_ not accidentally.

Michael wrenched one hand free from his brother's hold. He reached out for Chuck, and wrapped their fingers tightly together, and finally made a tiny, strangled noise in the back of his throat. Shoved his face more firmly against the sheets to muffle a small cry.

His grasp on Chuck's fingers hurt, but Chuck only squeezed back and knelt beside the bed. He kissed Michael's knuckles—stark white in comparison to his dark fingers—and whispered nonsense in his ear.

Lucifer' loosened his hold on Michael's other wrist—Michael wasn't relaxed, but he didn't try to claw at himself either. He just tangled his fingers in the fabric beside his head, when Lucifer released him. Shuddered and breathed in gasps.

Slowly, his breathing began to deepen and slow, and his body stopped shaking, though his fingers still trembled. He pulled a long breath into his lungs through his open mouth and let it out shivery and low. He turned his face a little bit—cheeks slightly damp and eyes shiny.

Finally, Lucifer moved off of Michael. He settled beside him, and rubbed his hand in a broad circle across Michael's shoulder blades. Stroked up and down his spine, and swept his sweat-dampened hair back from his face. "Sweet Michael." He kissed Michael's temple.

Michael sighed again. He closed his eyes and murmured Chuck's name.

"Yes?" Chuck rubbed the back of Michael's hand comfortingly.

No answer for a moment, but then, "Is this normal?"

Chuck shook his head. Rather than directly answer Michael's question, he said, "The place you were in caught on fire."

A small, punched-out sound a little like a whimper left Michael's throat.

Lucifer's eyes snapped to Chuck, and he frowned. "You think—"

"I think they burned."

The next sound from Michael—abrupt, and broken—was a sob. He curled in on himself again, not in agony but in distress. In loss.

Chuck and Lucifer wrapped themselves around him.

They spent the morning tending to Michael: bundling him up in layers of blankets in bed, kissing his face and hugging him. For a few hours he mostly lay prone and depressed, but as the day progressed and the house heated up with summer sunlight he gained a certain vitality. He certainly wasn't in a good mood (nowhere near) but he got up around two and looked out the window. He watched a sparrow hop around Chuck's dried-up yard with a certain softness in his eyes. Chuck joined him, and looped their fingers together.

The sun was warm on their skin.

Lucifer joined them as well. Draped his arms across Michael's shoulders and dropped cold kisses down his face and neck.

Later, in bed together, all loose limbs intertwined and quiet breaths, they broached the subject with words.

"I feel like I'm not all here." Michael pressed his face against Lucifer's throat—enjoyed the cool of his brother's skin against his forehead. "There's this phantom pain and this sensation like a piece of me is missing." He sighed.

Tightening his arms around Michael's waist, Chuck said, "I'm sorry."

Michael shook his head.

"It's awful and I feel broken, but..." He paused. Closed his eyes. "If you hold me like this forever I think I can survive."

Chuck said nothing, and kissed the back of Michael's neck.

Lucifer folded them both more fully into his arms.

His feathered cloak, bright white and pristine, hanging over the window like a curtain, glistened in the moonlight, where he'd put it at lunch time with the words, "For both of us," and "As long as you remain human, I'll remain human." He planned never to touch it again.

Outside, an owl perched in the branches of a blooming magnolia tree.

It hooted and flew away.


	2. Timestamp

((Gettin' a little steamy, here. And domestic. Aww. Just a little timestamp I thought of on the way to school.))

...

Chuck hated taking out the garbage. Especially when it was Lucifer's week to do it, because then the trash just accumulated, and most of the time Chuck ended up getting fed up enough to take it out himself.

That being said, carrying three heavy, overflowing bags of garbage proved very difficult for Chuck. Extra difficult when faced with the challenge of opening the door and then carrying the bags so they wouldn't tear open on the sidewalk and make a mess.

He shouldered the door the slightest bit open.

Finally gave up.

"_Lucifer!_" He took a breath, and scowled. "Lucifer, come here!"

The sound of bare feet on the wood floor, and "I'm coming, I'm coming." Lucifer appeared in the doorway to the living room. He crossed his arms with a smirk. "What is it?"

"You know exactly what." Chuck dropped one of the bags of garbage to the floor and something inside squelched sickeningly. He frowned even deeper. "You were supposed to take this out a week ago, Lucifer." He let the other two bags down as well, and crossed his arms, trying his hardest to be intimidating but mostly looking extremely adorable.

"Why can't Michael do it?" Definitely whining.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Michael broke his leg, and you are well aware of it." He snorted. "You were more emotional about the whole thing than he was."

"Oh, silly me. How could I forget."

"Just shut up for five seconds and please take out the trash." Chuck put on his pleading face.

Lucifer shook his head with a softening expression—still far too smug for Chuck's liking, but much sweeter. He padded over and took up all three bags in one hand, leaning down to kiss Chuck as he did so. "Fine," he murmured. Shoved the door wide open and hauled the bags out to the dumpster at the curb. As he turned back, he shouted, "But you owe me, now!"

"Fuck you, it was your turn to do it! I don't owe you shit!" Chuck crossed his arms.

Up the porch stairs and back to the front door in just a few long strides, Lucifer settled his hands on Chuck's hips and leaned down so their faces were barely a centimeter apart. "I guess _I _owe _you_, then." He didn't quite kiss Chuck—not at first. But a few seconds of staring, and admiring Chuck's flushed face, and he moved in. Pressed their lips together once, twice. A few more times, for good measure.

Chuck rolled his eyes again, but he couldn't help but smile a little bit. "You're a jerk."

"I know." Lucifer kissed him again, more deeply, so that Chuck let out a soft sigh and a small noise from the back of his throat.

Lucifer laughed, and moved fast to haul Chuck into his arms, bridal style. Chuck yelped and grabbed him tight around the shoulders, as if afraid he might fall. Lucifer grinned even wider. He would never drop Chuck—the idea was absurd! He carried Chuck back into the house and kicked the door shut. Spoke low, and said, "How do you feel about a bedroom apology?"

"You're an idiot." Chuck bit back a grin. "But I'm not one to turn down a thorough 'apology.'"

More laughter. "Ah, wait." Lucifer paused just at the foot of the staircase. "Isn't Michael asleep?"

"No, he woke up right before I came downstairs."

"Wonderful." Lucifer carried Chuck up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He made his way down the hall, turned into the bedroom, and set Chuck down on the bed beside Michael, who eyed them both with a look of amusement and slight bafflement.

Michael lowered his book and asked, "Should I give you two some privacy?" as Lucifer joined them on the bed.

"Hm?" Lucifer paused, one hand on Chuck's belt and the other sliding slowly up his shirt. He grinned. "Oh, no. Please stay and watch, darling." He leaned over to plant a kiss on Michael's lips before returning his attention to Chuck. Pushed his shirt up and trailed kisses from his belly button all the way up to his collarbone.

Chuck squirmed, and shifted to be more comfortable beneath Lucifer. He tilted his head back, and Lucifer mouthed at his throat. Chuck's breath hitched. He caught Michael's eye, and smiled. Michael reached down to stroke his hand through Chuck's hair.

Lucifer nipped Chuck's ear, and Chuck gasped—his ears were very sensitive, and Lucifer knew it.

"You're a jerk." Chuck grabbed a handful of Lucifer's shirt, wrapping his legs around the larger man's waist and wiggling a bit.

Lucifer laughed quietly and kissed Chuck. "You love me, though." He rolled his hips against Chuck, drawing out another little gasp, and smirked. At Chuck's lack of reply—as if Chuck could even form a coherent thought at this point, with the way Lucifer was grinding against him—Lucifer pouted. He drew a cold finger down Chuck's ribcage and asked, "You _do_ love me, don't you?" His eyes glinted with playfulness.

Chuck nodded, shivering. Lucifer's touch on his ribs tickled. "I—" He paused to suck in a breath when Lucifer swept his tongue up the side of his neck and bit his ear, gently. Regained his focus for long enough to say, "I love you. I do."

Lucifer all but purred, pleased at the admission. "Hear that, Michael? He loves me."

"Of course he does." Michael watched them, clearly interested but nowhere near awake enough to join in, especially with his right leg covered in an unwieldy plaster cast. "I also love you, and him." He slid down, leaning his head against his propped up pillow, to get more comfortable.

"Aw, darling." Lucifer straightened up for a brief moment to peck Michael's cheek. "We love you, too." He returned his attention to stripping Chuck of his clothes, smirking all the while, smug and eager.

Chuck would have said something—would have verified that yes, he did love Michael—but he was a little distracted just trying to breathe right, with the way Lucifer kept distracting him with his icy fingers and that damn split tongue. He settled for a half-formed moan, and reached one hand out in Michael's vague direction.

Michael twined their fingers together with a smile.


	3. Timestamp 2

"What is that thing?"

Chuck glared at Lucifer and shut the door behind him, careful not to squish his niece's fingers. He said, "She's not a thing, Lucifer." Hung his bag from the coat hook and crossed his arms. "She's a child. You know—a young human being." He took the little girl's hand and led her toward the living room. "And her name's Viola!"

"Viola Marie!" She skipped away from Chuck, but stopped just in front of the couch. "Who's him?" She pointed at Michael, whose eyes were closed as he lay across the cushions, wearing an ankle brace rather than a cast, now. She tilted her head back to look at Chuck upside down as he walked up behind her. Repeated, "Who's him, Chunkle?"

Lucifer snickered in the doorway. "_Chunkle_?"

"You shush." Chuck pointed at Lucifer. Then returned his attention to his niece. He took her hand and whispered, "That's my friend Michael. He's very sleepy, so we gotta be quiet. Okay?"

She nodded solemnly. "Okay."

"I'm awake." Michael didn't open his eyes.

Chuck jumped, though—only a little! He was just a bit startled was all—and huffed noisily. "Jeez, Michael! You tryin' to make me pee myself?"

Michael snorted. He cracked one eye open, shifting a little on the cushions, and smirked. His gray eyes settled on Chuck's niece, and he murmured, "Hello." Reached his hand out, for her to shake. She snatched at his hand with both of her own tiny ones, and gave his entire arm a vigorous shaking. She let go rather reluctantly. Michael rubbed his palm. "Strong grip."

Viola beamed at him. "Mommy says I have tough hands!" She planted her hands on her hips. "I'm tough!"

"Tough as nails!" Chuck grabbed her under the armpits and lifted her up into his arms. He poked Michael's shoulder with his bare foot, and when Michael sat up, plopped down on the couch with Viola beside him on the arm. Michael lay back down again, with his head in Chuck's lap. Chuck rolled his eyes, but stroked his fingers through Michael's hair.

Lucifer wandered closer. "I feel left out." He pretended to pout, and hunched his shoulders.

"Braid me!" The little girl's smile grew even broader.

"Oh, joy." Lucifer padded over and sank into the armchair directly beside the couch. It didn't provide the ideal angle, but it worked well enough. Viola turned her back to him, and he began to loosen the braids already in her hair so he could redo them.

While Lucifer worked on her hair, Viola asked, "How did you break you, Micah?"

Michael glanced at his ankle. He looked at her, unblinking. "I fought a dragon."

"He most certainly did not fight a dragon." Chuck flicked Michael's nose and rolled his eyes. "He tripped on the stairs." He leaned closer to Viola, and in a conspiratorial whisper, said, "And he didn't even cry."

"Wow!" Viola clapped her hands together.

Lucifer snorted.

"Hey," Chuck pointed a finger at him. "How about I tell her all about how _you_ nearly passed out because you were so worried."

"_Excuse_ you," Lucifer glared daggers at Chuck as he tied off the end of Viola's new braid. "I did no such thing."

Chuck raised his eyebrows. "You made yourself sick."

"Shut up."

Michael chuckled, as they bickered. He caught Viola's eye and made a face. She giggled.

...

"I figured you hated children, since you called her a 'thing' when she walked in the door..." Chuck watched Lucifer from the couch, smiling softly. "But you seem to have a knack for putting her to sleep."

Lucifer shook his head, in front of the fireplace with Viola bundled in his arms. He tucked her head under his chin and frowned at Chuck, rocking gently back and forth where he stood. He didn't say anything—didn't want to disturb the little girl curled against his chest. He hummed, quiet and low, and let his eyes drift half-closed.

Chuck smiled. He leaned into Michael, who sat beside him, and watched Lucifer pace and sway.

It was quite a sight. Sweet and maybe completely unexpected of Lucifer.

But very cute.

It kind of made Chuck wish he had a child of his own. To raise with Michael and Chuck—he would have loved to see Lucifer as a father. And Michael as well. He held no doubt in his mind that they would be excellent parents. Despite Lucifer's general brash behavior.

Lucifer squinted at Chuck as if he could hear his thoughts.

Chuck grinned at him.


End file.
